Dark Angel Vs. Terminator
by Ratteler
Summary: 3.5 billion died on April 28th 2037. They called the war Judgment Day. They lived to face a war with the machines. But the Manticore taught us how to fight. They didn't ask to be born, or to be smarter & stronger, but they were our last hope.
1. Prologue:Judgment Day 2037

# PROLOGUE

Three and half billion human lives ended on April 28th 2037. The survivors of the nuclear fire called the war Judgment Day. They lived only to face a new nightmare, the war against the machines.

The age of super powers was over, but the weapons of the bygone area remained. NATO commissioned a defense network computer called SkyNET, created to guard against the use of the nuclear arsenal by and of the small nuclear powers that America and the former Soviet Union had broken up into. It got smart… a new order of intelligence. They tried to shut it down, to kill it. It struck back with all it had and decided humanity's fate in a microsecond… extermination. Some people were kept alive… to work. Loading bodies. The disposal units ran night and day. We were that close to going out forever…

…But there were men and women, they taught us how to fight. To storm the wire of the camps. To smash those metal mother-fuckers into junk. They turned it around and brought us back from the brink.. Different nations had different names for them, but in the Americas they are usually called Manticore. Some say they were engineered, bred by the old government to be soldiers, warriors. There are several ways to tell them from other people. Some say they have a barcode on the back of their necks. Some tell tales of their super human exploits. But the easiest way to tell them from others in 2049… they are the only ones who are old. They didn't ask to be born, or to be smarter and stronger… but in a world gone mad they were mankind's last and best hope.


	2. Death Wish

**CHAPTER 1**

The moon in the night sky was full, but through the dark clouds it is only a blurry circle of light. Still, enough light fell on the Washington landscape to light up the fresh unbroken snow. It was a scene of serene beauty covering the scorched earth and broken old world. It was also the most dangerous time to travel. The heat signature of a figure against the snow would attract the machines like flies to a heap of dung. The light was more than enough to make image enhancement easy. Some one would have to have a death wish to be out on night like this.

A motor screamed as a single person all terrain vehicle loaded with weapons and a lone, cloaked rider with a death wish tore through the snow. Behind him in hot pursuit, two flying Hunter Killers give chase. Their 200-Watt phase plasma cannons barked at their traitorous machine cousin and its living cargo. The Earth around the ATV exploded as each hill and bump nearly threw the rider. In the distance a large Hunter Killer tank broke from its location and began to move to intercept the lunatic life form who would dare challenge their rule of the Earth so blatantly. As the ATV approached a particularly steep bluff one of the flying HK's came close enough to its mark. Rider and machine were separated and launched by momentum over the edge of the gradient, and out of the machines line of site. One Flying HK came in low and spun around to scan the area where the rider went down as the other went high and hovered slowly toward the HK tank on its way to the same location. All three generating and transmitting data streams that their god, SkyNET combined and processed to help them understand.

Lights cut the darkness. The low flying HK targeted on the still hot engine of the ATV now lying on its side half stuck out of a snowdrift. From under a quickly open reflective tarp used to mask heat signatures, out of the darkness on the ground near the ATV, three beams of solid light traced into the distance, hitting the engine of the high flying HK. It spun helplessly out of control and careened hopelessly into the HK Tank! Both machines burst into flames as the low flying HK pulled up, spinning to find the source of the fire that killed its brethren. Orders came across the network and the snow in the area came to life as four Terminator who laid dormant now rose like they were spawned from the teeth of a dragon. The reflective cover was tossed aside as it was now more of a liability than an asset. The cloaked figure, now visible, was also holding a 200-Watt phase plasma cannon, modified to be portable. The HK sensors sent the rough image to SkyNET. For a microsecond there was confusion. No half-staved human could hoist the several hundred pound weight of a 200-Watt cannon. Three more blasts darkened the HK's sensor stream before SkyNET could decide the appropriate reaction.

The four Terminators began to drudge through the snow toward the lone biological. Only one of the Terminators was armed. These were infiltration units. They served their purpose and survived, but their human camouflage was too badly damaged to continue as infiltrators, so they were shut down and left as maneuverable land mines. The one that was armed still had half of its skin, although it was now blue, frozen and rotting. A final blare from the 200 Watt cannon dispatched the blue cadaver with weapon. The three remaining units closed on the cloaked figure that moved just as quickly toward them. The cannon's charge now gone, it spent its final moments as crude 275 pound club, sending one Terminator flying into the dark before it shattered into useless debris. The cloaked form turned toward the two endoskeletons and leaped into the air landing a roundhouse kick squarely into the head of one and a front kick to the chest of the other at the same time. One stumbled back off balance while the one hit in the head now has its head on backwards. The third that was sent into darkness now leaped back out to apprehend its target. A swift turn of the cloaked figure's torso landed a punch directly to the skull of the third Terminator and a startling metal clang rang out through the darkness. On the gloved hand of the figure was now revealed an armored gauntlet reminiscent of medieval armor. The Terminator faltered and one red eye flickered out as a flash of light revealed a gauntlet shaped dent in its skull. Another high side kick separates the skull from the rest of the unit, a sharp metal ring echoing through the dark. Before the endoskeleton could fall, the cloaked figure hoisted it into the air and at the other two. As all three sprawled on the ground… the cloak fliped back toward the ATV, landing straddled against the seat with enough force to straighten the unit into the upright position. Almost with the same motion, a container opened with a light shining from its interior. The ATV rider threw it at the three Terminators struggling back to their feet as he peeled off into the night. The explosion sent dirt and shrapnel in all directions.

SkyNET:Node/7FFF: 0 units available. Telemetry down. Upgrade priority on Washington State. Possible Manticore target. Deploy infiltrators.


	3. The Messenger

**Chapter 2**

Checkpoint C. Washington State Mobile HQ Bunker.

They call it the Cold Honor. It's hard to believe but before the war, Guard Duty was sometimes issued as a punishment. It's almost understandable in a way. The cold sucks the life out of you, and you can't have a heat source other than body heat under a reflector. Depending on available personnel, you might be out there for as much as 8 hours.If an Infiltrator finds its way to your door you spend the rest of your life trying to get to the warning alarm. That's why there are six people assigned to every door. Jeff was seven when Judgment Day came. It seemed like a lifetime ago, because for him… it was. At fourteen he wasn't the youngest person ever assigned the Cold Honor, but it was a major achievement nonetheless. It meant he was trusted with the lives of everyone inside. They knew he could stay frosty and hold the line. He was only allowed to work the Hot Door. The Hot Door was the third inside door; beyond it there was some heat, and when it opened he could get a little warmth. He crouched and shivered over the Browning 50 Caliber machine gun. Its muzzle had been sawed down ages ago and it was stuck through a cut out into the Cold Room. The Cold Room is where the guard dogs on duty are kept. They can always sniff out a Terminator. No one gets in till they get past them.

Across the way Phil was being his usual tower of strength. He was 16 and had been on the door on and off for a year and half. He had a bad cold and his nose was running, but he stood and watched. Everyone knew Phil in the WSMR. He had survived an infiltrator by being extra frosty. He hit the alarm before the dogs even made the thing. Truth is, he was jerk. Quite, and a real hard arse. But he was a hero. Because of him only 12 people died that day.

It's no surprise that Phil was the first one to hear it. He flicked a pebble at Jeff and they both choked up on their weapons. Through the cut outs they could see the guys in the Cold Room doing the same. Beyond that were the Door Gods. They were the first line of defense. They were switched every two to three hours and were hard-core military. Jeff's blood ran hot as the silence of the night gave way to the distant whine of engine. Phil hit the warning button. Behind the Hot Door the off duty dogs would be joined in moments by the rest of today's door crew.

This was too weird. The moon was out. Traveling by moonlight was just nuts! Especially with fresh snow out! But whoever this was had a motor. Gas driven by the sound of it. That wasn't how machines traveled. The motor cut off in the distance. Whoever it was, was following protocol. A few minutes later they heard the crunching sound of tires under snow as the stranger pushed the ATV up to the Door Gods. Then there was a voice. Jeff and Phil hadn't heard anything like it for a long time. It was gravel in a blender speaking with base tones. The Door Gods approved, and a Cloaked figure stepped into the Cold Room. The dogs gave him a sniff… and then something even weirder happened. One growled a little, the other whined and the both started backing away. Jeff tightened up on the trigger and quickly glanced at Phil. Phil held his trembling hand up, palm open and facing him… If Phil pointed…. They would both open fire!

The handlers in the Cold Room were nervous too. Alex finally spoke up after what seemed like an eternity…

" Dogs don't like you, Mister."

The Cloaked figure looked at the dogs and then that gravelly voice responded.

"Dogs don't hate me either. Got a message for the General from Global Ops."

Alex pointed his gun at the stranger's head.

"Too risky, You wait here."

"Fine." There was a little hiss as the stranger sucked air over his tongue, then that voice replied, "Send the kid with Browning. He's making me nervous and he'll move faster than the one with the cold."

Jeff and Phil looked at each other wide eyed…


	4. The General

**Chapter 3**

Jeff ran down the dark and dingy hallway as fast as his legs could take him. People watched as he ran by and almost on instinct started to pack up any belongings they had. Some would poke their heads out of their hiding space to see what he was running from. He skidded to a stop at the top of the ladder that joined the lower floors with the upper one. A guy in his 20's was climbing the ladder and some dust and gravel sprayed off the edge at him.

"Watch it, you ass!"

"I've got a message for the General from Door C! Move!" He barked at the young man.

"Really?" The guy answered, but he already was half convinced by Jeff's tone.

"Yes! Really!"

The young man leaped off the ladder and back to the ground. Jeff spun around and started trying to slide down the ladder, but lost his grip. He fell and landed flat on his back, it knocked half the wind out of him. The guy grabbed his arm and helped him back to his feet.

"Hurry up man, It must be important!"

Jeff started running, trying to get his breath back. The guy running next to him…

"Go! Go! Breath later."

Jeff got to the Command shanty. The make shift office was hidden in the deepest recess of the compound. Cables and wire from all over converged into one giant tentacle that went inside. Two large older guys who must have been in their late 20's, or even early 30's… were blocking the door. They had phase plasma rifles liberated from Terminators, and their insignia badge showed them as the personal guards of the General. Jeff hoped one day he would earn the right to wear a Black Ninja.

As he cautiously approached the main door the two men aimed their weapons at him.

"Identify yourself!"

Jeff snapped to attention and sounded off.

"Eastep, Private DNC300211. Assigned Hot Door Charlie. I have an urgent message for the General."

"Charlie, there's a warn on that door," one of the guards said.

"Yes, Sir. We put that warn up Sir," Jeff responded.

"You ran all the way from Charlie Door?"

"Yes Sir."

"General's busy. Give us the message."

"Sorry Sir. The guy in the Cold Room claims to be from Global Ops. General's ears only."

The guards gave Jeff a hard look.. He didn't shrink, but his eyes lowered and moved off to the side.

"He's older than you guys, and he just came out of the snow in moonlight. If he's not a machine…" Jeff looked right back at them, "No way am I telling him 'I' couldn't deliver his message."

The two guards looked at each other and smiled.

"Kids on the Hot Door," one of them said, to the other.

"Spread 'em'", the other told Jeff. One guard kept him covered while the other patted Jeff down.

The door to the shanty slid open. Two more Black Ninja's were aiming at Jeff as he entered. In the middle of the shanty was a huge map of Washington State with pins and markers all over it. There were other men and women at computer terminals set up around the room. Occasionally one would step up to the Map and change something, then step back. Jeff stared around, slack jawed. The door was one thing, but this was an honor. One of these people… was the General. The one who organized and rallied Seattle, the person who stood up to the machines that no one else would, or could. Jeff rallied his thoughts… He was HERE for a reason.

"General, Private Jeff Eastep, DNC300211. Assigned Hot Door Charlie. I have an urgent message for you from a man claiming to be from Global Ops."

A voice from the back of the room answered.

"Leave it."

Jeff, searched the back of room for where the voice had come from, but none of people even looked like they were paying attention. He took a deep breath.

"With all due respect, it was a verbal message. The man is still waiting in the cold room." Jeff gulped.

One of the people from the back of the room walked up right next Jeff. He was still looking in back when he felt the tap on his shoulder. He looked at the woman standing next him. She was about an inch taller than he was. Her was face was beautiful even behind the small wrinkles around her eyes and through the streaks of grey that ran through her hair. He had never seen her this close. He was speechless.

"What's this message Private?"

He stared at her blankly. Her face became contorted with frustration.

"Well!"

Jeff started hyperventilating, then caught himself in a fashion.

"There's ahhhhh… this guy in the Cold Room who the dogs don't like… but Ok….but they're not barking and he says he's from Global Ops but he's kinda scary and he says he can only talk to you because it's important and… and… and…"

She rolled her eyes and then slaped him lightly.

"Wanna try that again soldier."

"He says he can only talk to you, General Guevara."

"Global hasn't sent word in 11 days. I'm not in the mood for company. Dogs don't like him, shoot him. We're on our own." She turned and started to walk back to the terminal at the far end of the room. Jeff gulped.

"General… Ma'am. He said if you said that, tell you… and these are his exact words… 'Stop being a bitch Max, you're the Jam Pony messenger not me. Now get out here and sign for this. Bip bip bip?'"

Max stopped dead in her tracks as everyone in the room turned and looked at Jeff at one time. Jeff took a few steps back into the two Black Ninjas.

"His words… not mine." Jeff felt the world swimming under his feet even though he wasn't moving.

Max turned slowly. Any age on her face was wiped away by her smile. Whoever was at the door was friend. An old friend.


	5. An Old Friend.

**Chapter 4**

Max ran down the darkened hallway in the opposite direction Jeff had just run. Behind her, the four members of her Black Ninja elite guard raced to keep up. Behind them Jeff ran with everything he had, desperate to keep up. Who on Earth was this guy who could send a message like that to General Max Guevara of the Washington Resistance, and make her smile and come running? He must be another Manticore. He looked kind of old.

Jeff could barely see Max in the distance now... Even her Ninjas were falling behind. She reached the ladder that had impeded his progress earlier. Someone was climbing down and Jeff thought for a moment that he might be able to catch up while she stopped and waited for him. But Max didn't even slow down. Instead when she reached the ladder she leaped straight over it and the startled climber, who lost his footing and ended up falling the rest of the way.

At this point, her Ninja's gave up any hope of catching her. They were the best the resistance had to offer, but they were only human.

The leader grabbed his walkie-talkie and spoke to someone.

"She dusted us again."

As he was arranging protection for her and Door C, Jeff, who would not be denied, shoved past the Ninjas, running full speed. He hit the ladder and scrambled up it as fast as he could.

"Kid's gonna make us look bad", one of them, said.

"Nah, We'll make him look good.", the other answered.

Max reached the door and slowed to a stop. The off duty dogs were being cared for, and a small crowd of hardened soldiers had cleared away the lurkers and trolls who might get hurt if things went bad. They all saluted as Max approached. Phil greeted her.

"General Guevara, the dogs were none to happy about..."

Max wasn't even looking at him when she cut him off.

"Did they bark?"

"No Ma'am." Phil answered, and then he sneezed.

Then Max looked at him with disapproval. If she didn't have more important things on her mind she would have lectured him about staying healthy or working the door while sick. A sneeze on the Hot Door could give away the team's position enough to bring the Terminators running. Phil already knew this, too, and he quickly moved to the door.

"Open it up." Max said.

Before Phil could respond, Jeff appeared running down the hallway full speed. He skidded to a stop at the edge of the crowd. His eyes were tearing and he was covered in sweat. He took the deepest breath his lungs could hold, leaned over braced on his knees, and coughed for almost a minute straight. In the middle of all this he managed to cough out the words.

"(kaff KAFF kaff) Did (Kaf) I (wheezeKAFF) miss it? (KAFFAKAFFFFKAFKAF)" 

He felt one hand grab his shoulder balancing him and the other start to hit him on the back. As he caught his breath and straightened himself up a little, he cleared the moisture from his blurry eyes and glanced over the crowd that was staring at him.

"What?"

He looked at the person who was now making small circles with an open palm on his back. His eyes popped wide open. Max was smiling at HIM this time. 

"Easy soldier. You're no good to me if you kill yourself. Right?"

He snapped to the attention.

"No Ma'am! Uhh…Yes Ma'am! Thank you Ma'am! Ughhhnnn."

His face turned BRIGHT red with embarrassment.

"Sorry General." His voice was little more than a whisper. A smiling Phil handed him a 12 Gauge Auto loader.

Two more guys (_guards_?) showed up. Both carried phase plasma rifles. One wore the Black Ninja Uniform, although he was disheveled, the other had the pants but wore a just a black T-Shirt. They both looked like they had just gotten out of bed.

Max turned back to Phil.

"I said open it up!" she commanded.

"Yes Ma'am!", Phil replied.

The Hot Door slid open.

The cloaked figure stood staring out into the night through a view port in the Cold Room door. Three guns where trained on him.

Max stepped into the area between the hot door and cold room.

"So if I don't sign, you don't get paid right?"

That gravely voice answered back…

"Paid? They pay people for this?" He turned and lowered the hood on his cloak. He was very scarred up and looked a lot more weathered, but he turned and smiled at Max. (_Note: "be he" doesn't make sense, but I didn't know what you wanted here…before he?)_

"You got a lot nerve showing that ugly face around here." Max quipped.

"Ok. Lando." He answered back.

Max almost jumped at him and gave him a big hard hug.

"Tread, you crazy old bastard! It's good to see you again"

Jeff and others crowded the door as the name 'Tread' drifted though the crowd. He wasn't nearly as tall the legend made him sound. He was one of the Leaders of the Revolution. He had helped restore Democracy to reunite America after the Pulse, then disappeared. He reappeared after Judgment Day, and as East Coast Commander he and his troops had broken the machine ring in the North East. The safe zone in the East had held for over a year now.

All Jeff's running was worth it. This was better than another Manticore. This meant something REALLY BIG was going to happen.


	6. Heat and Metal

**Chapter 5**

Max and Tread stepped inside. The hot door closed behind them. Tread looked at Jeff, who was still breathing hard. The off duty dogs all whined and crouched as Tread past them. Max looked at them and then at Tread.

"I can't believe you made it this many years with that predatory hum in your DNA."

"Yeah. He caught up with YOU?" Tread motioned to Jeff.

Phil grabbed Jeff's shoulder and whispered to him.

"Show's over, hero. We gotta finish our shift."

Jeff knew he was right. He choked up the 12 gauge and started to back up toward the door, still watching as Max and Tread walked slowly down the hallway. The two tired Ninjas followed along. Jeff turned away and faced Phil, the two of them about to resume the Hot Door duty, when Max called out.

"You two wait a second." Jeff and Phil looked back. Max spoke to her Ninja's.

"You guys take over the Hot Door till the sick kid finds replacements." The two tired soldiers didn't look happy. Max spoke to Phil.

"I'd hurry if I were you, these guys can hold a serious grudge."

Jeff was disoriented now. He hadn't done anything wrong. He wasn't sick. Why was he being taken off the door? Tread answered his question.

"Kid, you're with me." He said.

Jeff looked at Phil. Phil gave him a big smile and a thumbs up.

Jeff tagged along. No need to run this time. Max and Tread were walking like normal human beings. Jeff was trying to hear what they were saying.

"I whacked two flyers and a Tank on the way here," Tread spoke. (_Note:I don't think "spoke" is the right word to use in this instance…__

"That's going to bring us some heat." Max said with a little annoyance. "Two Flyers AND a Tank?"

"And four spent Infiltrators," Tread added

"You never were one for 'Escape and Evade'," she said shaking her head.

"I was built more for 'Seek and Destroy'." Max stopped as he walked a few paces ahead. Tread turned to see why.

"So were the Terminators." Max added.

Max and Tread had been having of form of this argument for close to 30 years now. There was no fight left in it.

Max always felt she may have been designed to be a 'killing machine' but was going to be more than that. She wasn't going to be what they wanted her to be. She wouldn't kill people if she absolutely didn't have to, and she wouldn't be responsible for the deaths of innocent people. It was her bid for her freedom. 

Tread on the other hand considered himself robbed of his choices, his Freedom. He decided to give the people who created him just what they asked for, but not the way they asked for it. There was no such thing as an innocent person in his eyes. People either fought the good fight, or they were part of the problem. In a way, it always haunted Max. It was just Logan's philosophy taken to the extreme. She thought back to that cold night so many years ago.

"You accept the way things are you're an active participant in making them worse."

She had sniped back something about social studies lessons. If only she'd have known then she would spend the rest of her life being "an active participant" in making things better.

"I'm too old of a dog to learn new tricks now, Max." Tread answered.

"I've got people here who die every time the machines find us."

He looked back at Jeff. Then at Max.

"Everything will be clear when I brief you. If I didn't HAVE to come, I wouldn't have."

There was something in his eyes that was different from the past 30 years she had known him. He wasn't showing off, or sending a message. He seemed almost sorry about something.

She was about to ask him about other people they knew, but the "HEAT" she was expecting arrived. An alarm blared through out the compound. It could mean only one thing. TERMINATORS.

"Door B! 4 maybe 5, AAHHHHGHGHHGHHhh *SQUARK*" 

The voice was cut silent by phased plasma fire. 

"Where?" Tread. 

"This way." Max. 

Jeff was standing alone before he knew it. He managed to make the corner in time to see Tread race out of sight. 

Plasma fire and conventional ordinance was everywhere. When Tread reached the edge of the firefight, Max had already commandeered a phase plasma rifle. He didn't see until a moment later that it was from one of her fallen ninja guards. The four she left in the dust earlier had been among the first of the military to respond to Bravo door alarm. Smoke and screams filled the hallway. Tread quickly peaked around the corner and ducked back barely fast enough to avoid the burst of Plasma that blew chunks out of the wall next to him.

Miraculously, several people backed down the hallway firing whatever they had at the Terminators. One young woman managed to squeeze off the remainder of her clip before her torso exploded. Max was about to stick her head out into the hallway and lay down some suppressing fire when she caught Tread giving her a hand signal to hold back. The hallway was filling with those low on ammo, or trying to escape when the muzzle of the 80 watt plasma rifle slowly came into view around the corner with a Terminator holding it only a step behind. Tread leaped into the hallway, grabbing the rifle in the Terminator's hand and spinning with it. The Terminator swung with the gun and Tread slammed him into the wall on the other side of the hallway right next to Max. Tread was almost a foot shorter, but monster and machine locked eye to glowing red eye. The Terminator tried to use brute force to throw Tread off, slamming him against the other side of the wall. Dust a mortar gave way to the impact of the ancient mutant, but his grip did waver. Tread wrestled back, slamming the Terminator back again the other side of the hallway with enough force to shatter the wall's support column, impaling the cyborg's flesh on a reinforcement bar. Tread twisted the rifle straight up seconds before the Terminator fired a burst. The unsupported ceiling exploded and snow, dirt and concrete collapsed on both killing machines. Max backed up looking at the cave in. On the far side a dark figure appeared through the shadows and dust. Red eyes adjusted and targeted Max over the rubble. A trail of plasma fire from the 40 watt rifle this one carried sent dust and debris raining on Max as Tread and his opponent burst out of the fallen rock pile, ruining the second Terminator's shot. Tread guided the barrel of the 80 watt rifle he was struggling with into the throat of the second Terminator. A third Terminator joined the first two rifle butting Tread in the face. The second Terminator took the moment's respite to pull the unfired 80 Watt rifle muzzle out of his throat by leaning back.

Suddenly there was a blast of shotgun fire. The force of the blast sent the second Terminator stumbling forward, impaling his throat right back onto the 80 watt plasma rifle being shared by the first Terminator and Tread. If a Terminator could have an expression, this one would have looked surprised, but not for long. This time the opportunity to fire was not missed by the old, out numbered aberration of science. Its head was blown clean off and the force sent it falling backward on top of Jeff, smoking shotgun still in hand.

Tread, now out of the smashed ruins from the ceiling, braced the stock of the 80 Watt rifle on a fairly heavy piece of ceiling wreckage, pinning the first Terminator, and swung around it on with more than enough force to repay the third Terminator for his rifle but earlier. The snap from Tread's kick sent the third machine sailing down the hallway into the forth machine. As the two cyborgs struggled to untangle and right themselves, Max flipped over Tread and his first opponent, then opened fire on the two Terminators now on their knees. They reeled from the blasts and one of them lost an arm. The fifth Terminator stepped from a room and started to return fire blindly.

Tread finally won his battle for control of the 80 Watt Rifle from the pinned and impaled first Terminator. He rolled up next to Max in a crouch position and brought his new weapon to bear against its previous employers. In a hail of plasma fire, the three machines' last moments would never be seen by SkyNET because of the jamming system, activated when the Alarm went off.

Jeff finally pushed the headless Terminator off of himself enough to crawl out from under it. As he made his way to his feet, he looked up and into glowing red eyes of the first Terminator that had also freed itself. It reached for him at lightning speed, but he was already unloading his 12-gauge auto loader into it. Each blast threw it off balance and sent it back a few steps. As the last shot from his shotgun went click, Jeff panicked. The Terminator stood there for a moment, rallying, then looked directly at Jeff. It had only taken a single step toward him when a gloved gauntlet made a clang against its skull. Tread slammed it back into the wall and started pummeling the unfeeling machine with both hands. As it started to block he grabbed its throat with his left hand, lifting it into the air and pounding its body with his right until arcs of high voltage started to course out of it like high tech blood. Max appeared at the end of the hallway watching super man vs. machine with more than a little concern growing.

Tread in hand to hand combat with a Terminator, ok. That was pretty much an even match. Tread beating a machine to death with his bare hands… ok, gloved hands? Something wasn't right. Jeff noticed that Treads veins began to pop. Tread switched from pounding the machine's body to its head. The already torn up skin splattered away at force of Tread's blows, revealing the machine skull underneath. Tread dropped the machine so he could beat on it with both hands. Its metal battered against the concrete wall and Tread's metal gloved fists like a punching bag. The skull slowly warped from the impacts, and finally the glowing red eyes went dark. It slumped over, dead.

Tread stood there glaring at it. Max touched him on his shoulder. His fist jerked a little and c0cked. He caught himself and forced his hand to an open palm. The bulging veins in his head and neck slowly subsided. He started twisting his head to loosen the muscles in his neck.

He looked at Jeff, still hyperventilating.

"Good work kid."

Max looked at the shattered T800 and back at Tread.

"What the hell was that?" she asked.

"Briefing," he responded. "We need to do that briefing."


	7. ... they just fade away.

****

Chapter 6

Max's personal quarters were small and sparse. Still, she had them all to herself. Privilege of her rank. In one corner, she had the shattered remain of her Ninja650. It was turned pointing straight up, headlight toward the ceiling. From where the dashboard had once been connected now hung a few more light bulbs of lower wattage. A machine created solely for the purpose of going fast, was now solely an ornament to read and sculpt by.

She had small table too, and on it was an open suitcase. Inside there were metal files and a bunch of dust, plus a few bottles of chemicals, and standing in the center of it all was the a memento of what ended up being the turning point in her life. The statue of Bast, or what was left of it. Bast may have been the goddess who comprehended all other gods, but 30 years of being so close to the line of fire on Max and Logan had left her with permanent scars. In point of fact, she was now a creation more of glue and Max's memory than her original ceramic and gold composition. In '37 when Judgment Day hit, she couldn't have fenced it for beans. Her street value had been lost, but her value to Max had become priceless. Glue and all.

Tread sat on end of Max's cot staring at Bast. The cot was low to the ground and his knees stuck up in a manner that broke every rule of ergonomics. The mattress sagged adding to the awkwardness. 

"I know how you feel," he said to the statue that had, like himself, been repaired too many times. He looked at the door and cocked his head. Super hearing and vision was never fully a trick of genetics. In truth it was a mental technique mastered by martial artists through out the ages. Even regular humans fill in the blanks with what they hear and see. Trained from birth, any one could learn to augment their focus. People did it all the time. Like if you were ever in a room that you thought was completely silent, then a few minutes later you notice the ticking of a clock that you didn't notice before. It was there all the time, but you only now focused on it for some reason. Super hearing used the same principle. You block out what you don't want to hear, and just listen to what you needed too.

He concentrated, trying to focus on only the sounds reaching his ears he needed to, but it was tinny and muffled all at the same time. Too many explosions. Too many loud motors. Too much time since he last hibernated, letting his immune system regenerate. Too much Rock and Roll right up against the speaker. It had all added up to too much hearing loss, even for a genetically enhanced human like him. He was after all a cold a war vintage killing machine.

He shook his head in disgust and took a deep breath.

Then he tried again, and this time he stuck out his tongue. Where the eyes and ears had been pounded relentlessly for almost three quarters of a century, his tongue, tucked more safely inside his head had far less collective trauma than his other senses. Add to that the fact that his high percentage of snake DNA had given him a super sense of taste too. Taste so sensitive he could interpret vibrations through it. Now in his old age he found himself relying on it more and more to cover his other failing senses.

Now with the extra input from his tongue he was able to 'hear' Max through the doors walls and noise. She was organizing a bug out. Now that the Terminators had found this place they had to move.

He thought to himself he should go out there and help. After all, he hadn't briefed her yet, so she didn't know where she was going.

But then the cot was sagging underneath him, and the month of traveling non-stop through the cold was catching up with him.

He slurped to stop the drool of saliva that accompanied using his tongue to listen with, and wiped his chin.

He slumped back on the cot and his head slid down the wall a little. He took a deep breath, and slowly let it out, wincing a little bit, from habit. He'd been wired so tight for so long that relaxing his muscles actually hurt. At least it used to. He smiled as the pang of pain he was expecting never came. He slowly closed his eyes.

Even in this moment there was no real rest. Tread was man haunted by himself and the things he had done. If Max was some kind of Transgenic Messiah, the Tread was either her John the Baptist, or some kind of antichrist.

History is kind to those who are victorious. Sometimes kinder than they are to themselves. Tread was the original thorn in the side of every Committee project. He wiped out more Familure sect's than anyone would ever know. But he still hadn't atoned for his greatest sin.

In 2009 he achieved his greatest and worst accomplishment. It was to be known through out history as The Pulse. The fact was about 200 men had helped him throw America into a postmodern Dark Age. But he was the mastermind. He planed it. He designed the trimmed down V2 inspired rocket that lofted the nuke to 80 miles above America. He was the one who had the FBI and CIA running around in circles, and chasing fake warheads across the country.

So in the end, he was the one responsible for the 8 million people who died as a result the Pulse. It was hard to find a silver lining in that. Even all these years later he would still question weather or not it was worth it. The Pulse had let Max and the original 09' 12 slip through the cracks, something that would never have happened in the digital empire that they escaped into. America got a second chance as those who secretly controlled the world from their keyboard were forced to scramble out into the light of day to stay alive. Tread had shattered the electronic collars that enslaved America, but was it worth it? After all these year that was a question he couldn't answer even to himself.

He got almost three minutes of sleep before he snapped back to his senses. He sat back up straight and then noticed the small puddle of blood on the floor at his feet. He looked down his shirtfront at his T-Shirt, and it too had small fresh patches of blood all over it. It was a side effect of his relaxing, and his ability to heal being compromised. He tensed up again. Tread other gift from his snake DNA was his mutant constrictor. They allowed him to apply pressure to all his wounds simply by tensing the muscles where he was hurt, effectively making a biological tourniquet. 

He stood up and looked at the mattress, then put his hand out, double-checking any spots that were hot to his infrared vision, a byproduct of some wolf DNA that had been thrown into his poorly mixed DNA cocktail. Satisfied he had not left a trail, he stood up straight and smiled.

"Lucky I always cover my arse.", he joked dryly to himself.

The door to the small room opened. Jeff held the door with one hand and his new 40 watt phased plasma rifle with the other. Max messed his hair as she went in and he closed the door behind her. Her fatigue shirt was opened and her T-shirt was covered in dirt and filth. Tread put his size 11 boot over the blood puddle on the floor so she couldn't see it. She started to push past him in the small room and he leaned back, bracing an arm against the wall over the cot and trying to make some space without sitting down again, watching the floor to see if he moved his foot. Max was wedged between her table and Tread, and they were pressed up against each other. He looked up from his shoe and noticed they were face to face. She had a slightly annoyed look on her face. He smiled and rolled his eyes a little.

"Ya Know. Twenty years ago copping a feel like this would have made my day." he said. 

She cracked a smile and shoved him hard. He fell back on the cot a good amount of force, and his foot planted on his blood puddle slipped, making a dark red boot shaped skid mark on the floor.

"You know what…?" Max went by and flipped up one end of her mattress so it folded over and covered Tread as he was trying to pull himself back into a more comfortable position. She bent over and pulled something out from under the mattress. When she stood up he flipped it back. She took off her fatigue shirt while she spoke. 

"If you can still enjoy having a rub up against a broken down old lady like me…"

Tread was repositioning himself to get up again. 

"I should probably let you.", she said a moment before she pulled off her T-Shirt.

Tread gawked for a moment, his eyebrows raised…

Max was covered in different sized scars and a few big discolorations that were the result some serious burns. She turned to grab a clean shirt from the pile of clothes she pulled out from under the mattress, then an annoying hand pushed Tread's head the other way and blocked his view of her. He smirked as he realized the hand was his own.

Max glanced at him with his hand blocking his view and smiled too.

"See, you can't even stand to look any more," she taunted.

"Please Max. This is the best sex I've had this decade… or two… or …"

"It's safe to look now." She laughed as she pulled on her fatigue shirt.

"You still got the body of a 20 year old. You could be a centerfold for Playboy…" Tread looked at her face, all smug from being able to fluster him a little, "…or Biotech Frontier's," he mocked back at her.

"Yeah?" she responded, "Well you look like sh*t old man."

She moved the rest of her clean clothes, sat on the cot and started to pull her boots off.

"Give me some good news."

"Huh?"

"I know you didn't ride 3000 miles for a peep show. I want some good news first. It's been a horrible day and it's going to get a lot worse when we try to set up a new base tonight." She tossed her boot without looking and it landed almost right over the bloodstain on the floor. Tread gave it a little push to finish covering it.

"I think I deserve some GOOD news."

"We're wining the war," he said flatly.

"I want news, not propaganda." She fired back, as she took her other boot.

"Seriously. By now we should have all the Great Lakes and Florida in the safe zone. SkyNET's defense grid is smashed. We've also got safe zones in Europe, China, Australia… The war is almost over Max."

She stared at him with disbelief for a moment, then her eyes drifted over to Bast.

"So you're here to take over the West Coast operations personally?"

"Not hardly. You and Krit down in Southern LA have been doing just fine."

"So why are you here?" she looked back at him, real serious this time.

"Is Logan…Ok?" Her chest started to hurt and she braced like she was expecting to be hit.

"Not really," Tread answered solemnly. Max started took a deep breath and stared at Bast.

"He's turned into a real mean old fart." He smiled at her. She looked back at him.

"You bastard!" she leaned over and starting hitting his shoulder with a big mean smile.

"Ouch. Ouch," he said half-heartedly. "No really, last time I saw him he had a nine millimeter to the head of a programmer explaining how important it was for him to check his algorithms. His students hate him."

"And he really misses you." Her smile softened and her eyebrows pushed in giving her that pouty little girl look.

"Does he talk about it?"

"No. He takes it out on people."

Max stood up and dropped her pants. As she stepped out of them she looked at Tread.

"You can look away again."

He turned around with his back to her.

"3000 miles and all I get is bare back. What a gyp.."

She laughed.

"You should see his new chair…"

"He's back in the chair again?" She paused for moment, concerned.

"Yeah. There are only a few strains of pluripotents that he hasn't developed a resistance to. I think he's saving them for special occasions." Max smiled at that.

"It's got these four …"

"You can look now," she interrupted.

"What's the point?" he said turning back with a wry grin. She sat next to him.

"It's got these four treads..."

"He's got four 'Treads'?"

"Yeah," he said responding to her bad pun. "He finally decided to just outnumber me."

"… it raises and lowers him from a sitting to standing position. Goes up and down steps."

"If his new chair was any smarter, we'd have to shoot it as a traitor."

"I can't wait to see it." She said as she leaned over him and reached for her boot.

"You won't … have … to… wait… long…" Tread's last word trailed off as Max lifted the boot into the air revealing the blood stain. She looked at it, then at him.

"Oh god, were you hurt?" She reached down and touched the blood seeing that is was still wet.

"You were hurt!" She stood up and took a few steps back.

"It's nothing… didn't even happen today." Tread said matter of factly trying to allay her fears.

"It didn't? What's up with you?" she said just getting angry.

"You're covered in scars… you're bleeding all over the place."

"Only when I relax." He replied, trying to make a joke of it.

"Oh well then it's Ok." She said loaded with angry sarcasm.

"When's the last time you hibernated?"

Tread paused, half thinking about it, and half not wanting to tell her for fear of her reaction.

"Five… no… five and half years."

"ARE YOU CRAZY! You know you don't heal right unless you hibernate every year and a half. You're immune system must be completely shot by now." She glared at him accusingly.

He rolled his eyes a little and looked away.

"It's not like I've been able to take a month or two off to regenerate and shed my skin. I've been fighting a war."

"We all have. You've always done dumb shit like. When are you going to learn you're not the only person in the fight. Not everything is YOUR private war."

"What am I supposed to do, tell the people who count on me I'm going to take a nap for a month or so." Now Tread had the sarcastic tone. "Keep me safe so I'll be fresh as a daisy when I wake up? I can't think of a single month since the war started that I would have even survived if I were in hibernation. The machines would either have killed me or dissected me after they killed everyone else."

"Well you're on my turf now. We'll get set up at a new location and put you under. I'LL keep you safe till you heal up." She said it like it was decided, then started to get her layers of battle clothing on again.

"We don't have time." Tread returned flat and coldly.

"Like hell we don't. We need you. There's damn few of us left!" There was a petulant tug on every buckle she fastened. "Why do you men always have to play Mr. Tough guy no matter how much you're hurting."

"Max I'm not here on vacation." The serious tone was coupled by THAT look. The one that Tread had when he was giving Max no choice but to listen.

Max never liked not having a choice.

"We'll make time."

Before Tread could argue she jumped in changing the subject, to one that was bugging her.

"What was with you beating that Terminator to death. You weren't THAT strong 25 years ago."

Tread was on the verge of annoyance himself, but he got a sad smile at her diversion tactic. He turned his head and pulled down the hood and showing the back of his neck, and the beginning of the reason for the sadness in that smile. He had 3 little telltale marks arranged in a triangle. 

Max's brow furled. Her eyes went soft.

"What have you done? You know how much trouble that one implant I had gave me. Are you crazy."

"It doesn't matter, Max." He stared he into her eyes. It told her what she was afraid to ask.

"I took one too many shortcuts through hot zones. I'm dying of cancer."

"Wha… you…" Her face contorted. "No! You can't be."

"Strong with the force am I, but not that strong." He smiled meekly to himself at his reference to the sacred trilogy, but Max didn't smile back. Her eye's had the tinge of glassyness that happens when you start to cry, but stop yourself.

"Look I'm 76 years old. I'm probably the oldest living organism on the planet with the exception of a few giant sea turtles. I'm only going to last 6 month to a year anyway. Spending them without pain sounds really good. It's a lot better than puking up my guts while a I whither away in front of bunch of people to wrapped up in who I was to bullet in my head."

"Thanks for coming all the way to say goodbye." There was coldness in Max's voice. She knew he wouldn't have bothered to make the trip if there wasn't some ulterior motive, and she wanted to change the subject again before she had to think about loosing some on else she cared about.

"So why are you really here?"

"We need to you to take your troops to Mexico."

"What are you kidding? I haven't left Washington for 24 years. It's my home! I'm not abandoning it now. Not for anyone!"

Tread stood up and faced her.

"How about for everyone?"

"What does that mean?" Max fired back.

Tread rose to his feet and squared himself up. He looked back at Max.

"You ever hear of something called a 'temporal incursion'?"


End file.
